The Rehabilitation of Dr Joan Watson
by Lady Laran
Summary: The last thing anyone wants to hear is that a close friend and co-worker has been hurt. Sherlock is given bad news and must now help the woman who has helped him through recovery. As he aids Joan through her recovery, what will the two partners find lurking within their own hearts?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note – Admittedly, I am not a fan of heterosexual pairings but after watching the show 'Elementary,' I can easily say that I see the potential between Sherlock and Joan. I was reading some fan-based stories of 'Sherlock,' and the plot idea for this story spun into being. I truly hope my readers enjoy it as I challenge myself to try my hand at something I have not done in years – write a heterosexual romance. I really hope I haven't lost my knack for it as well as being able to handle a character as layered as Sherlock Holmes is.

I am putting a warning up for this one – mentions of rape and physical assault. Needless to say, this is very much an AU.

Disclaimer – I do not own the characters of 'Elementary.' They are the works of the creative genius, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I do not many any money from this tale at all.

Chapter One – Bad News

If there was one thing Sherlock Holmes had come to expect was the odd calls and appearances to the brownstone by one Captain Gregson. Indeed, he'd often come to relish those times as it meant that something challenging would be set before him and he would have a chance to utilize the skills that he had honed over the years. It didn't matter if the appeals for help came at odd hours, though he knew that his apprentice would very much prefer if the hours were not quite so late. However, Watson did very well at keeping up with his hectic hours, much to Holmes's surprise.

Despite the unusual hours he received visits and calls from the captain, the knock at his door was rather unexpected and unsettling when he opened it to reveal a very somber and concerned looking Gregson. There was no curl of anticipation in his stomach when Sherlock's eyes settled upon the policeman.

"Captain?"

"It's Joan, Sherlock."

The unsettled feeling felt almost like badly cooked chips settling in his stomach when he heard Gregson's words. This was something he had not anticipated hearing, and the consulting detective did not like it.

"What about Watson?"

"She was attacked tonight after leaving her meeting with her family," the police captain began. "I got the call after someone stumbled across her and called 911. Police dispatch alerted me since they know you and she do some work for us."

The feeling in his stomach grew worse, a feeling of serious nausea as well as anger. How could this happen to Watson? Somehow, he kept his voice steady as he questioned the other on the situation.

"How is she?"

"I don't know exactly, Sherlock. As soon as I heard, I left to come get you. I thought you'd want to come with me to the hospital."

"You're right, I do indeed wish to go," he answered, grabbing a coat and his keys as he did so. The Englishman did not want to linger, knowing time could be incredibly important in circumstances like these. He followed Gregson to his car, getting in without a word.

"Has her family been notified," Sherlock asked as they approached the large building.

"I sent Detective Bell to do it," the captain said softly. "Hopefully, we'll see them there soon."

"Yes," he answered, equally soft. Sherlock had not been entirely certain as to what the dinner with her family had been in regards to. Watson had looked a bit anxious before leaving, and he'd given her a few words of encouragement before she'd gone.

The two emerged from the vehicle after Gregson had parked, heading into the emergency room area in hopes of gaining any information in regards to the former surgeon. The captain made an enquiry, then nodded and gestured for them to sit in a quiet area to wait.

"Any news at all," he asked as they sat down.

"Not yet," the American answered. "They're checking now to see what they can find out. It's a busy night for them, unfortunately. It could be a while before we hear something so we better try to get as comfortable as we can."

Sherlock nodded, looking concerned as he settled in the chair to wait. He hated hospitals and hoped that they would get some information on Watson soon.

"Someone you trust is working on finding who did this to her, correct," he asked quietly, looking at his companion for a moment. Though his concern was mainly focused on his apprentice, the consulting detective very much wanted to ensure that her case would not slip between the cracks.

"Yeah, Bell is going to handle it as soon as he finishes up with delivering the news to her family. He asked to be allowed to take it," he murmured, knowing that Sherlock would appreciate the information. "We'll definitely ask for help if it comes to that, but I think Watson may need you right now."

Before Holmes could answer the captain, the detective they had been speaking about came in, looking angry. Gregson's eyes narrowed in concern, not liking the look of rage on his subordinate's face.

"You spoke with the family?"

"I did," he spat out to his senior officer. "For all the good it did."

The Englishman's gaze turned towards the police detective, noticing the fury on the man's face. This was not something he often saw on Bell, and the sinking feeling he'd been dealing with since receiving the bad news on Watson grew.

"The meeting did not go well, I take it?"

"You got that right, Holmes. I told her parents and her brother what was going on and was informed that Joan Watson was no longer their concern."

Both Holmes and Gregson stared at the man, stunned by what they had heard. Bell nodded, looking grim and furious at the same time. It had taken the detective every ounce of control he had not to lash out at the family during the conversation, knowing the woman in question did not deserve such vitriol from the people who were supposed to love her.

"Yeah, I asked them to confirm that since it was their daughter and sister in the hospital. They told me that they didn't know her and would no longer take any information or responsibility regarding Joan Watson."

"I can't believe this," Gregson growled, hands clenching into fists as he struggled with his temper. "You can't just cut off blood like that."

The consulting detective interjected a gentle rebuttal. He'd seen this kind of thing happen all too often, and it was never a pleasant thing. Despite his loathing for his family, there were a very rare few times when his relations did come in handy.

"One would assume not, captain, but it does happen. It seems Watson's family has decided to do just that. This may account for her having been attacked. I know that she carries a canister of pepper spray for her defense."

Bell nodded, realizing where Holmes was going with this. He would remember that when he went to the investigation shortly.

"She was upset or angry and got caught off guard, disarmed before she could use it. Damn, this isn't right."

"Family of Joan Watson?"

The three men rose when they heard the call, heading to the man that was attired in scrubs. They headed to him, looking concerned for the missing woman.

"Are you the family of Ms. Watson?"

Gregson answered, keeping control over his anger for the moment.

"We're friends of Ms. Watson. I am Capt. Gregson of the NYPD. This is Detective Bell, who will be handling Ms. Watson's case, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes. At this moment in time, the Watson family is unreachable."

"I see," the doctor said, running fingers through his hair. "I'm Dr. Jerry Thompson, ER physician that took care of Ms. Watson when she came in. Follow me so we can talk please."

The trio followed the doctor to a quiet room off to the side of the bustling emergency room waiting area. Once the door was closed, Dr. Thompson turned to face them.

"I'll have the full report for you soon, Det. Bell, so you can have it for your files. We've reviewed the x-rays I sent her up for after the initial exam. She has a concussion, a fracture in her left radius, as well as cracked ribs. There's also a considerable amount of bruising to her face and torso. A rape kit was also done and sent to the crime lab."

The three men stared at him for a moment, processing his last sentence. Gregson broke the silence, voice tight with rage and horror. Bell had the same expression on his face as he was feeling, and Holmes's eyes were burning with something he could identify with all too easily.

"She was raped?"

The physician nodded, looking worn out. This was part of his job he hated the most, and he knew the men in front of him were very concerned for his patient. In the back of his mind, he had a feeling that the one who had done this to her would be very miserable once they caught him.

"Yes," he answered. "Her arm has been set, ribs bound, and is resting comfortably at the moment. I'd like to keep her overnight tonight for observation due to the concussion. Barring any unforeseen complications, Ms. Watson should be released to go home tomorrow morning."

Holmes broke his silence, voice soft as he queried the physician. Despite his rage regarding to the news they had been given, he wanted to see his apprentice and check up on her.

"Can we see her?"

"Follow me," the doctor answered, leading them out of the quiet room and through several hallways to the elevator. None of them spoke during the short trip and nodded when the doctor guided them to a semi-closed door.

"This is her room for tonight," he answered. "A nurse will be by to monitor her vitals and the concussion."

The trio entered the room, Holmes leading the way in. Sherlock paused a moment when he spotted Watson laying in the bed. The woman opened her eyes, focusing on her visitors.

"Hey," she managed to greet them.

"Watson," Sherlock said, keeping his voice even and in his usual tones. He headed to a chair, moving it close to her bedside.

"Hi Joan," Gregson said, giving her a soft smile.

"You guys here in an official capacity," she asked, wincing as she tried to get comfortable on the narrow bed.

"Bell is," the captain answered. "Holmes and I are here as your friend."

Joan gave him a wan smile, touched by that, before turning her gaze to Bell. She knew what came next and wanted to get it over with.

"I can do it now," she told him, hand clenching her blanket. Dark eyes turned to Holmes when it was taken by the consulting detective, a warm squeeze given to reassure her. She gave him a tiny smile, a bit confused, before turning her gaze back to Bell.

The police detective nodded, pulling out a notebook to take notes with. Gregson took a stand behind Holmes so as to offer his own strength if the former surgeon needed it.

"Take your time, Ms. Watson," he began, voice polite and soothing. "Tell me what happened tonight."

She was quiet a moment, putting everything together in her mind. Joan knew she had to be as thorough as possible, wanting her attacker found quickly before someone else was hurt.

"The family meeting I was summoned to didn't go well," the former surgeon began. "I left before the main course was served; there was no way I could sit there and go through that anymore. There wasn't a cab nearby so I made a call on my cell and was told that it would be twenty minutes before one could get there."

"What cab company did you call?"

Joan answered, knowing he would have to back up her story.

"Faraday's. Sherlock and I use them quite often if I don't drive and if our destination is too far to walk to. They're trustworthy and usually on time when you call for them."

Bell made note of it, motioning her to continue.

"I told them I understood about the delay and gave them the address of the restaurant, staying near the light at the front. I didn't want to go back in and run the risk of another confrontation. Stupid now," she muttered, shaking her head before resuming her story.

"I ended the call and was grabbed just seconds later," Joan stated, closing her eyes to help keep her emotional balance as well as aid her in recalling the details. "I wasn't expecting it and should have."

"You were distraught, Watson. It's normal for people to be off their guard when the emotions are overwrought. Do not blame yourself for this."

She squeezed Holmes's hand, thanking him silently though she didn't really believe his words.

"I grabbed my spray, but he grabbed my hand and slammed it against the edge of a dumpster. I felt the bone break then and couldn't hang onto the spray at all. I kept trying to fight back, hoping to make enough noise to get someone's attention. It didn't work, and all it seemed to do was make him angrier. He started hitting me, starting with the face first and then my torso."

Her voice trailed off for a moment, and Bell gave her time. He hated interviewing victims, and it was hard listening to Watson's testimony as he knew her personally. The fact that she was managing to keep herself together long enough to give a succinct testimony was a tribute to her strength as well as the training Holmes had been giving her. His respect for the woman was climbing with every word she relayed.

"I don't remember how long it took before I hit the ground. I was too dizzy and in pain to try to stay standing. That's when…he took some sort of knife and cut away my undergarment, raping me right after. Something startled him when he finished, and he ran off. I think I lost consciousness afterwards because the next thing I remember was waking up in the emergency room."

"Were you able to get a good look at this guy at all?"

Joan's eyes closed again, going through her memories as she put together what facts she could recall.

"Caucasian, taller than I am. My head came even to his chin when he pulled me back against him to drag me off," she answered. "Accented voice, Italian I think. I didn't get a look at his face, but there was a tattoo around his wrist that ended on the back of his hand, a stylized cross. Nails were clean, well kept."

"Is there anything else you can remember, Joan?"

She shook her head, eyes still closed. The exhaustion was making itself more apparent, and Bell was eager to end the interview to allow her a chance to rest.

"No, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Joan. You've given me enough to get a good start on finding your attacker. Don't worry, ok? You focus on getting better. If you do remember more, call me or have Holmes do so."

"I shall do so, detective," Sherlock answered, seeing the lines of strain on Watson's face. "Captain, I wonder if I might ask a favor of you?"

Gregson nodded and followed Holmes and Bell out of the room. Sherlock stopped right outside her door, digging in his pockets and handing the captain his keys.

"Would you be so kind as to stop by the brownstone and bring Watson back a clean change of clothing for the morning? Something loose, soft, and nonrestrictive will serve best given the bandages."

The police captain blinked but took the keys the consulting detective had offered him.

"I can drop them off in the morning," he answered. "You're not going home?"

"No, I shall stay here with Watson tonight. After the magnitude of the trauma she has experienced tonight, it would be best if someone remained with her."

"Good, I'm glad you're doing it," Gregson said, pocketing the keys he'd been given. "Do you need anything?"

"Only Watson's attacker behind bars," Holmes answered, looking furious for a moment before pulling himself back under control. "But for the morning, perhaps Detective Bell can find an answer to a question I have."

"I can try," he answered, sounding determined. "What's the question?"

"How is it an upscale restaurant like the one the Watsons dined in tonight did not respond when a patron was dragged away from the front of their establishment nor did they hear her calls for help?"

"That question occurred to me too when she was talking. I'll get that answer for you, Holmes," he promised.

"Good. I'll see you in the morning, Captain," Holmes told him, heading back inside the hospital room and leaving the policemen to head out. There was a lot to be done in regards to finding Joan's assailant as well as helping the woman recover from the attack she had undergone.

Author's End Note – Well, here's the first chapter. I hope everyone likes it so far and that I'm not too OOC with the characters. Please let me know what you think! See you next chapter, Laran.


	2. Hospitals

Author's Note – The response to this has been amazing, and I've been so incredibly happy with the comments from everyone. I can't thank you guys enough for your support. I hope I can continue to make this story enjoyable for everyone.

I apologize for the length of time between updates. I lost my maternal grandmother and have been dealing with my own health issues at the same time.

Disclaimer – I do not own "Elementary" as its characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the network that airs this wonderful show. They earn the money; I don't. I just have fun playing with the characters.

Chapter Two – Hospitals

The night had not been a good one with nurses coming in to monitor Joan due to her concussion. Sherlock could observe the frown on his companion's face that appeared during the intervals of restless sleep. He kept a close eye on her, ready to wake his apprentice should the dreams become nightmares.

When she stirred around seven in the morning, he had spent most of the time she had been sleeping reviewing her testimony, trying to come up with ideas for Bell to use for the investigation. Even though Sherlock was committed to helping Joan through this ordeal and could not investigate it himself, he would present what ideas he could to the police detective in order to bring her attacker to justice.

"Did you stay awake all night?"

The consulting detective gave her a small nod while answering the question that had been asked. He answered in a quiet tone, not wanting to add any further stress on his companion.

"It was no trouble at all, I assure you. How are you feeling?"

Joan slowly sat up with a wince, feeling her injuries throb as she moved. She felt bruised all over, and the broken bone was aching badly.

"In pain," she admitted.

"Understandable, in light of your injuries. I imagine you will be uncomfortable for some time until you heal."

The former surgeon nodded, trying to get herself in a more comfortable position. Sherlock helped her by arranging a pillow to help support her and ease the pain.

"Watson, I must ask, the problem with your family. What precipitated it? I had no inkling that something of this magnitude was forthcoming."

In retrospect, Joan knew he would ask this and should not have been surprised by it at all. Sherlock didn't like not knowing all of the pieces of a puzzle.

"It's been building for a while, Sherlock. My last two career choices were not within the ambitions and ideals my family had envisioned for me."

"They demanded you return to medicine?"

She nodded, brushing hair out of her eyes as she did so. He could see the determination written in every gesture and facial expression Joan made.

"Don't get me wrong, I liked being a doctor but I found fulfillment in being a sober companion and really enjoy the challenge that being your associate brings. I don't want to leave this new career."

She was quiet for a moment, staring off into space as she collected her thoughts together.

"They found it impossible to be pleased with the fact that I am happy and since I refused to fall in line with their demands, they decided to cut me out of the family. Apparently, it was a unanimous decision by all there and they had made sure the entire family was at the dinner last night."

He gave her a nod, and she knew he understood. From what she knew of his father, Sherlock more than understood the demands of a controlling family.

"I, for one, am very pleased not to lose such a promising associate and flatmate. I am sorry that they felt such a break was necessary."

"It was coming, and I knew it. They've never been able to focus on the happiness of their children and hate that I won't stay malleable."

Holmes nodded again, accompanied with a small, crooked smile. There was a knock on the door before he could speak and when she called out, a familiar head popped into view.

"You are up rather early today, captain."

Gregson nodded, smiling as he entered the hospital room. He could tell Joan was in pain and hoped that his arrival would be welcome by her.

"I come bearing coffee as well as other things," he announced, grinning when both Holmes and Watson perked at the mention of the hot beverage.

"Coffee?"

He chuckled, handing a cup to both of them as well as passing a bag and a key ring to Holmes.

"Thank you, captain," the Englishman told him, sipping his coffee after setting the bag down and pocketing the keys.

"You're welcome. So when are they letting you out of here, Joan?"

"Hopefully soon," she replied, then took a sip of the hot beverage Gregson had brought. Joan gave a soft sigh as the warmth began to chase away the chill the hospital room had given her.

"The coffee is greatly appreciated, captain," Holmes said. "As well as you completing the task I asked you to do."

"Task?"

Gregson nodded, swallowing his sip before answering Joan's question.

"Holmes had me pick up a comfortable change of clothing for you. He gave me his keys so I could do it before coming here."

She stared at her housemate for a moment, astonished that he'd thought so far ahead as to her needs.

"Yes, well, I didn't think a pair of scrubs would be comfortable for your voyage back to the brownstone and your garb from last night is in the hands of the police. Given your injuries, I felt that a pair of your sweats and a lose t-shirt would be comfortable."

The former surgeon gave her friend a soft smile. Sherlock still managed to surprise her, and this was one that she liked.

"Thank you, both of you. I really appreciate it."

The police detective gave her a small grin, answering in a soft tone of voice.

"It's the least I could do. Good thing Sherlock thought of it because I probably wouldn't have."

The Englishman hid his discomfort at her gratitude by sipping his coffee and waving a hand to his housemate. He didn't want her to have to worry about things and expressing gratitude would only force her to linger on why she had to rely on others to fetch something as simple as suitable attire for her.

His thoughts were disturbed when a doctor came into the room.

"I'm Dr. Elise Porter," the woman introduced herself. "How did you rest last night, Ms. Watson?"

"I did all right, except for the occasional nightmare or being woken up due to a nurse," Joan replied. "I know concussions are tricky, but being woken up like that can really get annoying."

"I know, and I thank you for being understanding with them. How are you doing today?"

The Asian-American woman sighed, setting her coffee on the table as she prepared to answer the physician. She didn't want to have to set it down, needing the warmth from it, but she knew it would get in the way of the upcoming exam.

"I've got a headache and hurting all over," she admitted to the other woman. "I know I'm pretty banged up."

"That's one way to put it," Dr. Porter commented, heading to her patient's side. She examined Joan's eyes and then checked the arm and her ribs.

"Good news is, you're healing well and I'm glad of that. No sign of a fever, which is what I like to see. Looks as if the concussion is doing all right too. I'll sign the release papers and send you home with some prescriptions. I trust you to follow up with your GP."

"I can do that," Joan agreed, anxious to get out of the hospital. "I know how to tend wounds."

"Do you have someone to stay with for a few days, just to ensure you're all right?"

"We're flatmates," Sherlock interrupted. "I will ensure she takes the required medication and rests as she is supposed to."

"Even better," Dr. Porter said with a smile. "I'll send in a nurse with the paperwork and to help you dress. You're going to be very stiff and sore for a few days so try to take it easy, all right?"

"Thank you," the dark haired woman in the bed said softly. "I appreciate what you've done, doctor."

"Not a problem, Ms. Watson," the physician said, then left the room.

"Well, that's great news," Gregson said with a bright smile. "At least you're not going to be stuck in this freezing room for much longer."

"Yes, it is great news," Sherlock agreed. "One would swear the hospital staff is trying to keep their patients longer by keeping it cold enough to allow pneumonia to develop."

Joan shook her head at that, giving a small smile. She really appreciated her two friends and was happy to have them with her.

"I'd rather be cold than to deal with bacteria growing," she reminded them. "It can become pretty nasty if that was allowed to happen."

"Very astutely observed, Watson," the consulting detective said to his associate. "It would be very annoying if you were unable to return to the brownstone due to a bacterial infection."

"It'd just mean you'd have to actually do something around the place," she teased her friend. "Don't think you're going to get out of it now."

"I wouldn't dream of it," the Englishman teased, rising to his feet as the nurse entered the room. "Captain Gregson and I shall wait out in the corridor for you. Just summon us when you are ready."

The two men left the women alone, knowing Joan would need privacy to dress. Gregson leaned against the hallway, looking at the detective.

"Bell called earlier this morning to check in," he said quietly. "He said the restaurant did have a security camera, and they're bringing the tapes in this afternoon. I'd like for Joan to meet with a sketch artist soon and see if she can't give enough of a description so our officers have something to go on while they're on patrol."

"I'll speak to her about it when we are home," Sherlock said. "Did the owner or managers have any comment about that night at all?"

"No one heard anything, and Bell tested that by having a uniformed officer raise hell in the alley where the attack was. He said that the lobby area of the restaurant is pretty sound proof so unless someone was outside the doors, no one would have heard her call for help."

He sipped his coffee, pondering on what to do next. The tattooed male frowned, then looked up at the other man.

"Send me a copy of the tapes and I'll review them while Watson rests," the consultant informed him. "I'll also have her work with the artist as you requested, but I am unsure as to how accurate the drawing will be as he was behind her most of the time."

"Sounds good," Gregson sighed. "I know it might not be, but every little bit of information we can get will help us find the son of a bitch that did this to her. No word from her family?"

"None whatsoever," Sherlock answered, sounding irritated by the news he had to give the captain. "I hadn't expected to either as her brother seems to answer to their mother in all things. Whatever the matriarch says to do is done without questions being asked."

"I can't understand a family doing that," Thomas said, frowning deeper. "Even if they were upset by something she'd done, the news of her attack should motivate them to show a sign of sympathy."

"Not all families are like yours, captain," the Englishman softly reminded him. "There are those out there who will remove a person from the family tree simply for being different or for losing themselves for a while. It doesn't make it right to those looking in but to them, it's a perfectly normal thing to do."

The policeman shook his head, looking into his coffee.

"She's a great person, very kind and loyal, and she doesn't deserve shit like this happening to her."

"Which is why the perpetrator will be caught and brought to justice," Sherlock reminded him. "I'll assist where I can, but I must remain accessible in case Watson requires something."

"You're a good friend to her, Sherlock, and remember to call me if you two need anything," Thomas murmured as the door opened.

"I shall," he agreed, readying himself to bring his flatmate home.

Author's End Note – I'm sorry this took so long. Real life issues suck, especially when they involve the death of a loved one. Please let me know what you think about the chapter! ~ Laran


	3. Homecoming

Author's Note – I have gotten so much feedback on the last chapter, and it's been astounding. There's been compliments on my handling of the characters, and I've been beyond ecstatic that all of you think that I'm doing this well with them. You, dear readers, are utterly amazing and I am so very thankful for all of you!

I'm not one hundred percent satisfied with this chapter. It's a necessary one for progression of the story, but I couldn't quite get it to where I wanted it to go. Unfortunately, I couldn't push myself to look over it one more time. I've read and reread it to the point where I simply can't see anything else I can do to help improve it. I just hope I continue keeping the characters true while things develop.

Disclaimer – I do not own Elementary or the characters involved in the show. I also don't make money from this story.

Chapter Three – Homecoming

Returning to the brownstone was a relief for Joan. The ride from the hospital had been a nerve wracking affair; she had not expected to feel anxious about leaving the relative safety of the large building, and she'd forced herself to focus on Sherlock's monologue about the newest article on bee keeping. His enthusiasm for the subject had helped her to keep the anxiety away, and she'd been able to ask a few questions to help keep herself focused on not panicking. Sherlock seemed rather pleased with her participation, knowing that would help continue to keep her from suffering from anxiety during the trip, and the former physician concentrated on the details to help push her abilities to observe.

Her friend helped her out of the cab, providing an arm to lean on as they made their way up the few steps and into the welcoming atmosphere of their home.

"Do you wish to retire to your room or relax down here for the time being," he asked her, knowing she'd need help to get up the stairs for the next few days. Her ribs would limit her mobility until they had healed enough to allow her to move without pain. The issues her broken arm would cause was something he would address with her later.

"I'd like to stay down here," Joan admitted. "As long as I won't disturb you."

"Not at all," Sherlock informed her, helping her into the living room and onto the sofa. He tucked a pillow behind her head, allowing her to get into a position that would not be a strain on her battered body. "Now, can I get you anything?"

"A cup of tea would be nice. I still feel rather cold," she murmured and he nodded, heading into the kitchen to brew them both a cup of tea.

After a cup, prepared just how she liked it, was handed to his flatmate, the consulting detective sat in his usual chair.

"There are a few matters we must speak on," Sherlock began. "First of all, Gregson would like to send a sketch artist here so that your assailant's likeness can be captured on paper before the memory fades."

Joan sipped her tea, then sighed. She knew it was important, but the woman really wanted to put everything behind her. However, the thought that this man would do it again to others was one that fired her determination to do everything she could to ensure his capture.

"Today would probably be best," she told her friend. "I don't want to have to worry while waiting for the artist to get here. That would possibly distort my memory, and I want my mind as clear as possible for that."

Sherlock set his tea down, quickly texting the captain to let him know that his partner had agreed to the artist. A few moments later, his mobile buzzed with an acknowledgement from Gregson and a statement that the artist would be on her way to their home within a few moments. He typed an acknowledgement back, then set his phone down.

"The artist will be here shortly," he informed her. "Will you wish me to remain during the process?"

"Would you mind," she asked, knowing Sherlock didn't handle providing comfort well and she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable. However, Joan knew she would feel better if he stayed in the room while she worked with the artist.

"Not at all," the detective told her, understanding her need for company. "I will endeavor to provide a listening ear whenever you require it, Watson. Also, I will provide whatever aid Detective Bell needs in order to bring your attacker to justice."

"I appreciate that, Sherlock," Joan said softly. "I'm not sure how much of a description I can give the artist though."

"Clear your mind, try to relax before she arrives," he advised. "Stressing yourself over this will only hinder your ability to recall any distinguishing features."

The woman nodded, sipping her tea. Sherlock was giving solid advice, and she would try her best to follow it.

"I'll try," she said to him. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome," the detective replied. "The other concern I have is the limitations you will be hindered with in regards to your broken arm."

"It will make doing certain things a problem," Joan agreed.

"I will wrap your arm so the cast does not become wet during your shower times," Sherlock offered. "The other grooming issues and rebinding your ribs might be problematic given the closeness it requires."

Joan sighed, thinking about the problem. Most of her friends were busy and lived a ways away from where the brownstone was located. She trusted Sherlock and would be willing to try to let him help, but she was worried that the trauma she had endured might cause problems while he was helping her. It would put a strain on their friendship, and that was the last thing the former surgeon wanted.

An idea occurred to her, and she mentally perked up at it. Hopefully, this would help her a great deal without the added burden on the detective.

"Do you think Ms. Hudson would be willing to do so? I could pay her to come in to change my bindings and help wash my hair."

Even though the cleaner was male by birth, she identified as a woman and that was how Joan thought of her. It made sense to ask her for help since she would feel more comfortable with another female being that close to her.

"Watson, that is a brilliant idea," Sherlock said, giving her a warm look. "Let me ring her and see if she'd be willing."

"Go ahead and explain the situation to her," Joan said, giving him permission to tell the woman everything. "I don't want her thinking it's something against you."

"Of course," he commented, getting up to go into another room to place the call. Joan was going to have enough to worry about when the artist arrived, and he didn't want her to hear the conversation.

While he was gone, the Asian-American woman sipped her tea and worked on keeping her mind clear. Sherlock's advice made sense, and she was going to utilize it because she didn't want anxiety or fear to cloud her mind. The last thing the case needed was for an unclear picture and description to be given for identification purposes.

By the time the consulting detective came back into the room, Joan was relaxed and looking a bit better than where she had been before he'd made the call.

"Ms. Hudson said she would be here in a couple of hours; she wanted to give you time to finish with the artist before she came over."

"She was agreeable to helping me?"

"Oh yes," he said. "She told me she wouldn't accept payment for doing it either since she considers this the right thing to do."

"It's an imposition on her time though," Joan rebutted, then quieted at the head shake from her roommate.

"She doesn't see it that way, Watson, and you know how stubborn she can be. It's best to let her have her way in this."

Sherlock knew Ms. Hudson would win in this argument; the woman had been remarkably touched by the fact that Joan had thought of her first as someone she could trust to be close by during her more vulnerable moments. The fact that both detectives accepted her and her true gender was something she had always appreciated, and the autodidact was incredibly loyal to them.

"I'll have to sneak her some of her favorite snacks later," Joan said. "That or drop extra money into her purse when she's not looking."

"Provided she doesn't catch you at it," he warned, giving her a half smile. He really admired Ms. Hudson and was glad that Joan had chosen her to help with the areas of her life where her injuries would hinder her.

"It'll be good training then since I can't do much right now until the ribs heal," she quipped a bit, trying to keep her mood elevated. "Who knows, she might be able to stymie you with the lock organization."

That was something they did to help with their observation skills; Joan was getting better at it, and she was rather proud of that.

"Perhaps, Watson," Sherlock replied. "As long as she doesn't reorganize the library again. I've no wish to tear things apart trying to find what I need."

"She's only reorganized it once, and even you admitted it was desperately needed. I don't think that room has been so clean since she took it upon herself to get that room taken care of."

"No, I certainly cannot argue with you there," the Englishman admitted. "Her assistance in the brownstone has been invaluable. It gives us more time for your training and cases."

"Only if you remember to keep up with the dishes," Joan said, shaking her head. Ms. Hudson had not been impressed with the pile of dishes her employer tended to let stack up, and she'd warned the man about sanitation issues. He'd heeded her warnings somewhat, though the former surgeon usually ended up finishing the chore whenever he got distracted in the middle of it.

"I do make the attempt to keep up with those chores, Watson, despite finding them very tedious."

"Which is why I'm usually finishing them," she asked, managing to tease him a bit. It was an old argument, one they fell back on to be a bit silly when there was need for it.

"Exactly," Sherlock replied, rising when there was a knock at the door. "That will be the artist. Be right back, Watson."

Joan watched him go, fingers tightening around the cup. This would not be easy, and she hoped she would be able to keep calm enough to allow her memory to remain clear. The surgeon was determined to do her best, not wanting anyone else to go through what she had.

Author's End Note – I loved Ms. Hudson and wanted to bring her in. I am behind on my episodes and have only seen her the one time so I had to incorporate her. As far as her being male at birth, I saw how Joan accepted her for the gender she identifies as. In my mind, since that's the case, her mind would accept her as a caretaker for the more intimate needs she's going to have to fill in regards to her recovery. I hope everyone enjoyed this; please let me know what you thought of it. See you next chapter, Laran.


	4. Drawing the Memory

Author's Note – I cannot tell you how happy your reviews for the last chapter made me. The choice of bringing in Mrs. Hudson seemed to be a popular one with all of you, and I'm ecstatic all of you agreed with me. It made me eager to plot out the next chapter and since I have time and the urge to write, here it is!

Please keep in mind that my knowledge of police protocol is practically nothing so any mistakes I make are due to ignorance and lack of internet to do the research needed. Please forgive any mistakes made.

Disclaimer – I do not own "Elementary" nor do I make any money from this story.

Chapter Four – Drawing the Memory

Joan was quiet when Sherlock went to answer the door, watching the entryway into their living room. She was as comfortable physically as she could be, but it was her mind that didn't want to slow down. She was fighting herself and using whatever meditation tools she had to try to bring the pace of her thoughts to a level she could work with.

"Watson? This is Mrs. O'Hara from NYPD," Sherlock informed her, escorting a middle aged woman into the room.

The police sketch artist had white streaks in the shoulder length copper colored hair that danced in untamed ringlets. There was a look of warmth in the woman's green eyes that helped to relax the former surgeon, but it was the rich Irish accent that emerged from their guest that really set her at ease.

"Hello, Ms. Watson," she said to reclining woman. "You can call me Eileen."

"Call me Joan," the Asian-American woman responded, watching as Sherlock set the woman's bag next a chair that wasn't far from the couch. "Can we get you anything?"

"I'd love a cup of tea," Eileen replied and Sherlock nodded, calling back as he headed to the kitchen.

"How do you take it?"

"White, two sugars," she replied, pulling her sketch pad out as well as her pencils. "Once Mr. Holmes gets back, we can get started. Both Capt. Gregson and Det. Bell said that you would be more relaxed having him with you, and they found something he can do while you and I work on putting this sketch together."

"Really?"

"Not many people are aware of this but there is a database that NYPD has access to that contains pictures of tattoos taken each time a person is booked and put through the system. It's available only to police departments and the FBI," she told the injured woman. "I brought the log in information with me so Mr. Holmes can take the description of the tattoo you saw and see if it's there. I'll be sketching it if it's not, and Det. Bell will be passing it out along with the sketch."

"Sherlock might find that interesting," Joan commented, teasing her roommate as he came back into the room with the requested cup of tea.

"Indeed, it should be," he answered back, setting the cup on a small table near the chair. He took the paper with the log in information, picking up his computer to get logged on.

"Okay, Joan," Eileen began, taking a sip of the tea. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. That is lovely."

The artist set the cup down, looking over at the other woman.

"We'll start with the tattoo. Det. Bell said that it's one of the things that stands out to you right now so we'll work on that to help you relax and allow your memory a chance to warm itself up," she said. "Before we start, if you need to take a break, just let me know. We're doing this at your pace, all right?"

"All right," Joan replied, shifting a bit to get herself comfortable and wincing when her ribs gave a twinge of pain in protest.

"Okay, let's get started," Eileen said, pencil hovering above the paper.

"It was a cross, very gothic in a way," Joan began, pulling the memories of the times she'd seen it up to the forefront of her mind. "It was strange because the cross piece of it wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet with the bottom was drawn almost in a snake like pattern and ended in the inner wrist."

She trailed the pattern over her own skin, showing how the bottom of the cross moved from the back of the wrist to the inner wrist. Both Eileen and Sherlock watched the motion, and the artist quickly drew it in a two dimensional way so she could place it onto a wrist when she was ready to ask about it.

"Like I said, the cross was almost gothic in a way, very dark. The main structure of it was bone instead of the usual wood that you see for them," she said. "Thinking about it now, it was strange because the main post was drawn from what looked to be the bones of a human leg and the cross piece the bones of the arms."

"Are you sure," Sherlock asked, looking up from his computer.

"I am," she said. "The bones in the arms are different in shape and length, and the cross piece had more of them in the design to make it balance out. Both pieces had two rows of bones. The two beams intersected and were bound together with what looked like a broken string of prayer beads."

"Catholic prayer beads," the artist asked, knowing that several religions had beads used for meditation and prayer.

"Actually, no," she answered, shaking her head. "They reminded me of the ones you see Buddhist monks with – larger, not as ornate as rosary beads usually are. The strings were red and dangled past where they tied the cross off, and I could see beads coming off of the string. It was the only splash of color the whole tattoo had. Everything else was black, including the beads coming off of the string."

"Anything else," the Irish woman asked, looking up from the paper.

"No, that was it. I just remember it standing out because of the odd blending of a Christian symbol with something Buddhist," she commented. "Even then, you don't see crosses made with arm and leg bones very often."

"Very true," Eileen answered, showing her the pad. "Is this what you saw?"

Joan nodded, forcing her hands not to shake. The cross had been drawn out as if the skin it had been inked on was laid out flat instead of curved around the bones of the wrist.

"What I'd like to do next, Joan, is to try to recreate this on how it was inked on his hand and wrist," she told her. "What can you tell me about his hands and wrists? Bone structure, anything?"

"Larger bone structure," she answered, holding out the arm that wasn't in a cast, using her fingers to indicate how much larger the wrist had been in comparison to her attackers. "Skin tone was slightly darker than mine but Caucasian, not Hispanic or Native American. He kept his nails neat and clean so I'm not sure he worked with them in a blue-collar setting."

"Was it his right or left hand, Joan?"

"Left hand," she answered. "I did get a look at his right and there was an odd scar on the ring finger of it."

Eileen's pencil flew as she drew, focusing on the other woman's words.

"Good, what kind of scar was it?"

"It looked like he'd been wearing a ring that had become superheated and couldn't get it off before it burned him," she described. "It was a band several millimeters thick and from what I could tell, it went all around his finger. It must've been a bad burn that didn't heal too well judging from the scarring. It would hinder movement on that finger."

"Excellent, details like that will help the police immensely," the red haired woman replied. "Now, I want you to hold your hand out and show me just how the tattoo was done on his hand."

Joan nodded, tracing the main beam of the tattoo first on her hand and wrist before doing the same for the cross piece. She repeated it a few times before setting her hand back down and accepted the pad.

"I want you to verify that this is what you saw," the artist said, waiting for the woman to look at her work.

The former surgeon swallowed against the tightness of her throat, looking at the drawings. Eileen had drawn out the both of the man's hands, right one showing the scar, and the left one was from both the top and bottom view to show how the tattoo had been inked.

"That's exactly it," she answered, handing the pad back to the artist.

"All right, this is a great start," Eileen praised, showing Sherlock the tattoo and how it laid out so he could continue the database search. Once he nodded, she turned the page and settled back in her seat.

"Do you need a break for a few moments before we continue," she asked, watching the other woman.

"I'd rather get this over with," Joan answered shakily.

"Just remember we can take a break at any time," the artist said reassuringly. "Okay, so let's get an idea of bone structure and weight."

"I came up to his chin," she started.

"You were wearing the black dress pumps with the two and a half inch heels that night," Sherlock supplied. "That would put him above six feet in height."

"That's a start," Eileen said, focusing on Joan. "Was he thin, heavy, scrawny, or muscular?"

"Thin but lean muscle, like what you'd see with a swimmer or runner," she answered, dragging up what she could remember of her attacker. "Dark hair, I think it was tied back at the nape of his neck. I couldn't tell you how long it was but wasn't short like most business men would wear it."

The artist nodded, pencil flying over the paper.

"Do you remember what the nose or cheekbones looked like?"

"Somewhat high for cheekbones," she said. "The lighting wasn't good, and I was trying so hard to fight him off. I really didn't get a chance for a good look. Clean shaven, I remember that because when he was behind me, his cheek rubbed against my temple a few times while he spoke."

Joan answered a few more questions before an image popped into her mind, surprising both herself and the other two with her.

"He had Asian blood, not full though," she informed them. "His eyes had the shape but nowhere near as pronounced as someone who is full blooded Asian."

Eileen made the corrections, then showed the drawing to Joan. She'd been able to put the drawing together based on the other woman's information and hoped this was accurate.

"Is this him?"

The long haired woman shuddered, staring at the drawing. It was a dead ringer to the images in her nightmares the night before.

"Yes," she managed to get out. "That's him."

Eileen handed her a document to sign, putting her things away. Her voice was kind as she addressed the other woman.

"You've done an amazing job today," she told her. "I'm going to leave you my number so if you do remember anything else, I can make adjustments for you. Thank you for working so hard with me, Joan."

"Thank you for coming here to do this, Eileen," she managed to reply.

"You're most welcome," the woman said kindly while Sherlock rose.

"I'm still going through the database at the moment," he told the woman as he escorted her out. "When you speak to either Capt. Gregson or Det. Bell, tell them I'll keep in touch as soon as I find something."

"I will," Eileen answered. "Just keep a good eye on her, Mr. Holmes. She's got a long hard road ahead of her, and she needs her friends to help her get through this."

"I plan on it," the consulting detective told her. "Thank you for coming by."

After the woman left, Sherlock returned to the living room to find Joan huddled on the couch, shivering hard despite the blanket he had left for her to wrap up in.

"Watson?"

"I need a shower," she managed to rasp out, trying to hide her tears. "Please, Sherlock?"

The tattooed man picked up his cell, sending a quick text and reading the answer that came back.

"Mrs. Hudson is four minutes away, Watson. Can you hold on for that long?"

"Yes," she whispered, voice tight with the effort to hold back the sobs. She looked up to spot his hand being held out, offering comfort, and she reached out to take it.

The warmth of his hand was comforting, and Joan held tightly to it as she waited. Everything was a mess inside of her head, and she just needed to find some sort of stability. Right now though, what she wanted most was that hot shower.

Joan waited, holding onto his hand, and listened to his accented voice start another monologue on bees again, letting him ground her. She honestly had no idea what she would do without him right now and hoped that she wouldn't have to find out.

Author's End Note – The emotional ending snuck up on me, but I find it's the perfect way to end the chapter. Please let me know what you thought of it. See everyone next chapter! ~ Laran


	5. Mrs Hudson Takes Charge

Author's Note – Outside of losing my internet again, I ran into a series of technical issues that managed to not only keep me from posting but nearly caused me to lose everything. My working laptop started having issues, and my IT friend (also my heart brother) said it was a bad LCD. Add to that, at the same time, he had to fight a Trojan that had managed to get itself onto my gaming laptop. Long story short, I'm now working on the gaming one and trying so very hard to get used to a new operating system. I'm so very sorry for the delay! Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to review and share their thoughts with me!

Disclaimer – I do not own "Elementary" nor do I make any money from this story.

Chapter Five – Mrs. Hudson Takes Charge

Sherlock didn't know how she did it, but Mrs. Hudson arrived two minutes after his hastily written text. Their wonderful housekeeper let herself into the brownstone by using her key, and the woman entered the living room with a worried look on her face. The expression deepened for a moment when she spotted the look on her friend's face before schooling herself to a more neutral state. He was rather grateful for that; Sherlock would be the first to admit he didn't do too well with emotional situations but would do all he could to help Joan through this. He didn't think that his friend would be able to handle any form of sympathy from well-meaning people at this time.

"Watson, Mrs. Hudson is here," the consulting detective announced quietly, gently patting the hand that held onto his. She hadn't let go of him during the wait, and he hadn't tried to get her to do so since he knew she had taken comfort from that contact. That fact struck him as rather strange, but the Englishman wouldn't question it right then.

The blond haired woman knelt by the couch just as Joan looked up, revealing a tear stained face that pulled right at her heart strings. Her voice was gentle but firm as she spoke to her friend, hoping to help pull her away from her pain.

"I think you could use some time to clean up," she said softly, watching the Asian-American woman as she nodded. "All right then, will you let Sherlock help you up? We don't want to stress those ribs of yours, and I don't think I'll have the leverage I need to get you to your feet without causing you pain."

Once they got the nod of permission, the consulting detective helped his apprentice off of the furniture and let her use him to steady himself. It took her a few moments to make sure she had her balance and wasn't putting any undue strain on her ribs. Joan didn't let go of him but didn't put too much weight on his shoulder after she was steady on her feet.

Mrs. Hudson picked up her purse and the bag she brought with her, then walked beside Joan as they headed upstairs. Sherlock left them when they reached the floor where the former doctor's room was, heading back downstairs to give them privacy.

"Let's get you into the shower to soak for a few moments to relax and warm up a bit," Martha told her friend. "Even though I know why they keep it that way, hospitals can be miserably cold and you never feel warm until days after you get out. I'll lay out something for you to change into once you're nice and toasty, and then I'll help you get cleaned up."

"All right," Joan answered, throat sore from the strain of keeping her tears at bay. The blond haired woman made a mental note to make a cup of tea with honey for her friend later, knowing that would help with the strained throat.

The pair made their way into the bathroom, and the transgendered woman got the tub started and set the temperature to a nice one that would be comforting but not too hot. It was at a level she herself enjoyed and thought her friend would too.

"How's that, Joan?"

"Perfect," she commented, testing the water before rubbing her face with the damp hand.

"All right, dear. It'll have to be a shower for you because of your ribs. I'll handle the areas you can't reach, and then we'll convert the kitchen into a hair salon to take care of this gorgeous mane of yours. This way I won't be in your space too often. How does that sound?"

Joan didn't answer verbally, simply giving her a nod. She was quiet as Mrs. Hudson helped her undress, watching as she wrapped the cast up with saran wrap and taping it in the right way so no water would affect the plaster. Once the bandages on her ribs were removed, the other woman helped her into the shower.

"I'm trusting you not to overdo it," Martha told her, handing her the bath sponge and soap. "If you can't reach, don't do it and let me take care of it. I'll be back in a few moments, all right?"

The former surgeon closed her eyes, letting the warm water chase away the chills from earlier. Her friend had been right about how long the chill of the hospital could linger with you. She managed to get her upper half clean, except for her back, and didn't have to wait long for her helper's return.

"Back dear," she called, announcing her presence before entering the small room. "Ready for help?"

"Yes please," she answered, expecting cold air to enter when the curtain was moved. Joan was pleasantly surprised when it was warm air that greeted her when Mrs. Hudson pulled the curtain back.

"I turned the heater on in here," she advised, taking the bathing sponge from Joan. "I figured it would be easier on you if we keep the temperature steady while we do this. I know I hate it when I get nice and toasty and have to step into a frigid bathroom."

"I appreciate it," she answered, closing her eyes as the other woman cleaned up the areas she hadn't been able to reach.

Martha's touch was gentle and non-threatening, helping Joan to relax a bit more. She'd been worried about this, but the fact that the blond was chattering about the latest book she'd read helped keep her calm. The woman was managing to keep her mind engaged on the topic, making Joan want to read the book at a later date.

Once clean and rinsed off, Mrs. Hudson helped her out of the tub and aided with drying her off. The saran wrap was removed and discarded, and she rebound the ribs with an efficiency that spoke of having done this before. The former doctor had to admire her handiwork since most people wouldn't know how to do this kind of bandaging.

Joan stepped into her undergarments, grateful for the help, and she blinked when the pajamas had been revealed. These were something she didn't recognize and were definitely something she wouldn't have bought herself.

"I know those aren't mine," she said, staring at the flannel fabric.

"I knew your size and decided to make a quick stop on my way here," Martha said, giving her a playful smile. "You'll want something warm that covers you without being restraining. So I picked up something that would provide everything you would want and made sure it would make you smile too."

"These are outlandishly adorable; I love them. It's more Sherlock's reaction to these that I'm looking forward to," Joan commented, eyes taking on a hint of laughter as she looked at the pajamas.

The fabric was a shade of baby blue with pink honeybees decorating it. Said bees had huge smiles on their faces as they fluttered around yellow flowers that were also smiling. Truth be told, she knew the detective would probably not like the pajamas, and Joan actually was looking forward to seeing his reaction to the silly material.

"That's part of why I chose these," she confided to the Asian-American woman, who started giggling. The giggles got louder when Martha placed a pair of cartoonish bee slippers onto her feet so she could keep her feet warm without fear of slipping. Every time she wiggled her feet, the antennae bounced with the movement.

"I can't wait to see how he reacts to these," Joan said with laughter in her voice, making the other woman giggle with her.

"Neither can I," she said, cheeks pink with laughter. "Now, let's get you down to the kitchen and wash your hair. We'll see what Sherlock has to say about your new pajamas and slippers, shall we?"

The former doctor gave her a smile, grateful for the other woman. She walked beside Mrs. Hudson, moving slowly down the stairs. The blond steadied her, ensuring she didn't stress her ribs, and they made it to the ground floor.

Sherlock heard their approach, looking up from the database, and he stared for a moment, doing a double take. His eyes raked over her from head to toe, then back again as he tried to determine what it was she had donned after her shower.

Both Mrs. Hudson and Joan were inwardly crowing with glee at the response to her sleep attire and footwear; the two were wishing they had a camera to capture his reaction. It was rare when Sherlock Holmes had to do a double take!

"Watson, what on earth are you wearing?"

"Don't you like it? Mrs. Hudson got them for me so I'll be nice and warm."

His jaw worked for a moment as he struggled to come up with some form of answer that wouldn't be too caustic since it was obvious Joan was in a good mood, and he really didn't want to ruin it. His first instinct was to find a lighter and burn the items, and it was difficult to find a response that would be somewhat diplomatic.

"It's colorful," the detective managed. "I am curious as to where they came up with the idea that honeybees are pink and smile like that. Smiling flowers are rather unique as well and not quite what I would expect to see."

"I think it's cute," she said, tapping her feet a bit to make the antennae bounce again. "It was really nice of her to think of me."

Both Martha and Joan had to hide their growing laughter when the strained look on his face grew worse when he spotted what was on her feet. The former doctor made sure to wiggle her feet again, wanting to make the antennae move.

"They're interesting," he said, looking back down at the database he had been trawling through. He couldn't look at the pajamas or slippers again and hoped to erase the sight of them from his memory.

The two women met each other's eyes, hiding the urge to break into giggles. Joan headed into the kitchen, followed by Martha, and once the two closed the door behind them, they started laughing once they were sure of privacy.

The older woman leaned against the table, snickering hard as she did so. She was happy to see the Asian-American woman laughing so freely, and it felt good to see her free of the fear as she had been so lost in earlier.

"All right, dear," she said with a soft laugh. "Now that we've had our fun with the poor man, let's get you taken care of, shall we?"

Joan nodded, watching as the older woman set things up so she could wash the younger woman's hair without straining her neck or ribs. It felt odd being taken care of like this, and she was very grateful that Martha was so willing to help out like she was.

Mrs. Hudson finished with her set up, then turned the water on and got it warmed up. She was determined to pamper her friend and help her relax. Joan had a long road ahead of her, and she would do what she could to work with Sherlock as he helped the former physician heal from the trauma she had gone through.

If that meant finding the most obnoxious pajamas and slippers to torment the detective with, so be it. The laughter certainly would go a long way to help Joan, and Sherlock deserved a chance to be a part of the fun. Even if it meant being the butt of the joke a few times.

Author's End Note - Shorter than I'd like but it's moving forward! Yay! Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think of the chapter! ~ Laran


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